A wordsmith’s drought

Drought by Katie Tegtmeyer

Coagulated rain

On barren skin,

Vindictive in its glare;

Lips tethered to a silent scream —

A wordsmith’s drought

Seeks refuge in dispair.

Accursed the hand

That withers in the lie 

Of dreams unwrit,

And wields the anodine

To shield unfound

Its self-conceit. 


Daily Prompt: Three Coins in the Fountain 

53 thoughts on “A wordsmith’s drought

  1. Pingback: Welcome to my world… In/verse | vic briggs

  2. Beautiful and powerful, Vic. And that photo – it perfectly complements your words.
    BTW had to look up “anodine” (I’m not as clever as I think I am!)

  3. Pingback: Daily Prompt: Three Coins in the Fountain | My Atheist Blog

  4. The entire poem is stunning, Vic, very powerful – but I have to say that my favorite part is that you were able to use the word ‘coagulated’ in such a seamless way – that’s not an easy word to manipulate!

    • Thank you, A.C. There is a certain mystery attached to how certain expressions come to us. The first verse thundered through my brain just as I was readying for sleep and then image after image raced through my mind until I had to abandon all hope of rest and commit it to paper before it escaped me.

  5. Brilliant, Vic. It sounds as if the muse was upon you and no mistake! Very often the admission of such drought frees up the great flowing waters once more. xxx

    • Thank you for your support and kind words of encouragement, Ali and I do hope that will be the case and the admission will make space for a freer hand. I am trying to catch up on some reading and commentating while the drought persists. I hope it will not be long before I can feel its power recede.

    • Perhaps Katie Tegtmeyer is a fan? It would not surprise me to find out that she was inspired by his photography. I particularly like his woman/river (although I am not certain of its title).

  6. Thank God I am not a wordsmith that looks for just the perfect word. And if I run out, which hasn’t happened I just look at my friends for inspiration. Or the larger world around!

    Hence todays journey back to the Central Coast, as I am now a #Wine blogger! LoL.

    Oh, my editing process is spellcheck, I wrote extemporanously.

  7. Just going to be a little abstract, well kind of, because I love how your poem at the top came out above, did the poem lie, is, does a drought exist. Pop it in a bottle, a glass bottle, turn a cork in, wedge it tight upon the opening, and send, set to sea. (Normally I’d refrain from littering, but glass reminds me of obsidian ( the glass of the wild places), sand (the seas, oceans, rivers, and lakes, we think we can tame), limestone (caves that transit deep beneath the ground in conversation, and ash (because it once held living stories now free across lands, in the winds, and upon waters). Perhaps it’s best just to wave instead, a poem in semaphore, from shore to ____…

    Still just rambling in thought from your poem, for it’s dark here, and rain sings upon the old roof these last three days, nights still tracking time.

    Just (I don’t know, just like the word just at the moment) place the pen down, lay it flat upon the paper, allow the ink to rest horizontal, to sleep awhile. Close those eyes, the ones, yes those ones, the ones to see so much, now take a stand, turn about face, to listen, listen close, I mean real close. now make a quarter turn, to do the same again, and keep repeating until arriving to where one started. Now, this time, keep your eyes still closed, but also, cup ones hands over your ears, breathe in slow, savour the scents to your near world, and make quarter turns again to repeat each time once more. Do you feel disorientated; No.. Now open your eyes, look around. How many stories do you see, did you experience?

    Me, right now, I’m standing on the focsle deck to the ship with the fireglow red sails, wondering about the figure waving from the shoreline, wondering what’s their story, is it a message they’re sending, communicating, or is it a poem as the sea, the ship, fills all my senses in the mist lit avenue to the bay. Perhaps, brave wayfarers write.

    Hope that’s not too much thinking by me, just avoiding writing at the moment while it rains…

    • I am glad that you allowed your thoughts to linger over this deserted land and bring some much-needed rain. Thank you, Sean. I will return to your comment soon and listen in again. The drought continues, but I see clouds gathering in the distance. It is a promise of a thunderstorm yet to come. Perhaps I will await its arrival, or perhaps… I may tie my shoelaces and voyage towards it instead.

  8. Pingback: Bottoms Up for the Warrior God | vic briggs

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